Between 3 Enemies
by slbunnies
Summary: You like WHOM? And why does Weasley keep staring at me that way?


Author - slbunnies Rating - NC-17 Pairing - Severus/Harry, Draco/Harry Disclaimer - This story is based on the characters, setting, ideas, and imagination owned by Joanne Kathleen Rowling (J.K. Rowling), published by Raincoast, Scholastic, etc... Money is not being made. There is no copyright or trademark intended. Nothing is used for any benefits of any kind on anyone's part except to improve my writing skills and allow a few slash readers to enjoy some h/d loving and a bit of h/s too! Warnings - boy/boy and some other stuff that I might write down when I'm finished the story. SO IF YOU'RE SCARED OF A LITTLE ANGST, DO NOT READ. Oh... and one thing. This is definitely not a humor story. It has a few funny moments, but it's not one of those stories where the main thing is humor. But, enjoy nonetheless. Summary – You like WHOM? And why does Weasley keep staring at me that way? Between 3 Enemies

His hair fell around his face; overcrowding the exquisiteness of his features and allowing only a fragment of his ashen, insipid skin show through the curled locks that constantly looked so greasy but were in fact silken. Looking up from his potions volume to make sure all was well with the class, you first noticed the cavernous puddles of ink that were his eyes gazing keenly into your own. A sneer of repugnance formed as usual and your commonly amiable face emulated a comparable one. You went along with your work lackadaisically as he abruptly emerged himself into his book. Even though he never read a word of it everyone deduced that he was caught up in its pages. I observed though, your subtle glances towards him, and when those emerald jewels that seem adorned on your face past swiftly beyond mine, taking no notice in how I perceived everything, an identifying thought passed through my head as your eyes flickered with some kind of passion for the man sitting at the front desk. Your usual battle between each other was a charade, and I knew it because I acted the same way when I was around you and thought you weren't looking. The mask you held dearly in front of your unaware face was still in position. But, even though I did not wish it so, I could see through it all, through your façade.

Pondering alone in my room I try to look at a few things in your perspective. I struggle to see Severus Snape in a different way and can only see him in the usual manner… as my Godfather, nothing more. When I close my eyes all that I see are yours dancing brightly in the blankness. The shimmer of vivacity radiating from them burns distinctively across my brain. It's as if I haven't even sealed out the daylight in my room with my eyelids. I shake my head and try to concentrate, but I can only see you, and it is obvious to me that there is no alternative way to distinguish him in a different way. Sighing out my defeat I go back to daydreaming. Bronzed olive skin enters my thoughts along with your chaotic raven-black hair. It seems I cannot escape you no matter where I am, which seems to include my own mind.

Exhausted from Quidditch practice I walk down the hallways through the dungeons seeking out the comfort of the portrait to the 'Snake's Pit', or so I've heard you and your Gryffindor friends call my only real home. Nearing the glossy, dark painting of a headless man riding a black horse, I hear sounds leading down the hallway from the Potion's classroom. Curiosity takes over and I turn on my heel and head in that direction. As I push the door open the sight I see leaves me practically breathless; it is intolerable for me to stand. I fling a hand over my mouth to muffle my gasp and allow my hair to block my eyes as much as it would like, for this is a sight I would have been most pleased to not have bore witness to. Hearing the moans of your elation my stomach feels queasy as your passion fills the room. I sink down to the floor, bring my knees up to my chest, and cover my head with my arms. Knowing you are only a few feet away having sexual relations with him - the older man I used to be rather fond of - I shudder and start to rock my body back and forth in what I hope will be a reassuring manner..

Once you are satiated by him, my angelic demon, you fall against his body as I peer through the cracks of my fingers and the spaces between my bangs. Again, I feel as if I'm about to be sick. Your sweat-slicked skin is sticking to each other while your legs are intertwined. And, you're lying atop him, panting heavily as you try and catch your breath. I feel tears begin, threatening to overflow and slither past my eyelashes. Blinking, still hoping that what I'm seeing is some horrifying nightmare I've been plagued with, the tears do what they were made to do and splash down my cheeks. There is one thing I haven't done previously. Never in my life have I cried. This is what you have done to me.

My whimpers cause you both to look for the derivation of the sound. When you see me bowed into a ball on the floor I feel mortified and humiliated. Have I already explained that I've never cried? If not, I'd like this to be a reminder of that fact. Severus, which is what I usually call him by, or more informally Sev, which I know I can't now or ever call him, doesn't seem very shocked at seeing me here. On the other hand, you appear significantly stunned and self-conscious. You attempt to cover yourself quickly; an action that I normally would have hoped you wouldn't act upon, but under such circumstances as these looked forward to you completing such a menial task more rapidly.

It is at your efforts and my hopeful face that you succeed in covering yourself the quickest way possible; amusement flickers in Snape's face. I only now call him Snape because it would seem rude of me to call him anything nastier. The fact that he has used all my secrets against me, now taunts me with his demeaning perception of the fact that I so badly want you as my own, shows I cannot trust a conniving being such as he.

And now, I am trapped, cornered in my own little hell where my breath is released in short exhausting gasps as I watch concern on your face. I've always felt as if I may pass out every single time I hear your name, your voice, your screams in my ear at night in my sleep. I can't help but stop in the midst of what I'm doing just to see you walk by or move. Or even breathe. When you're in my presence I can barely hold back…only just. I was once hopeful. But, now I feel like a small child, a useless, runty child that can make no efforts in anything. Like Longbottom. I feel there is no hope for my heart to stay intact and that it will shatter and break on the next beat's impact. Staring into your soul through the windows that are your eyes, I see only the bright green of them. Everything else is darkness and I cannot stand it anymore.

But, distracting me once more unknowingly, you choose at this point to begin speaking, letting your influential voice carry through me and direct my awareness to you once again. Everything fades back to reality and my focus is centered on your structural physique, my eyes lingering on the curve from your well-set jaw to your collarbone. As my longing stare reaches your clothes, images of you lying atop the man beside you start to go through my mind. I am now pleading helplessly without words, hoping that this is all part of my overactive imagination, that my mind is playing a cruel and sadistic hoax on me. As I stand on unsteady feet, I shake and look at you both, sighing in my defeat - knowing it is a reality even if I do not want to face that fact. I have not heard a single word either of you has said, and as I make my way out of the room, stumbling as my feet shuffle as fast as possible even with my sluggish movement, you make your demands of silence from me, but I cannot listen. Can't and won't even try to hear it. I don't look back, my head set straight ahead at the path in front of me, my soul left behind to remain with your unheard words.

I blink and see where I am now standing - outside on the Quidditch Pitch. I can't really explain why I am here, although I could say that I went where my feet decided to take me. The night looks so ominous even though the cobalt sky is clear and sparkling with an abundance of stars. It feels glum. So dim, murky, and all those horrible words you use to describe things when your heart is torn into pieces. I can't feel; numbness is threatening to overcrowd all of my sensations. It's as if a million tiny legs are pacing up and down my spine and that soon the only thing that will be left in my mind is the chant of 'NO! NO! NO!' that continuously repeats itself over and over like a broken record.

It had to happen. I just had to see the proof with my own eyes. I couldn't have just avoided the pain and humiliation, could I? Fate is vindictive. And, of course, curiosity killed the cat, right? Good thing I'm not a cat. Ripping my own heart out my chest seems like it would be less painful than this. With nothing left but to stand in the slowly dying wind, I casually slump down onto the dewy grass and try to make myself comfortable, do nothing, and wish I could stay in this mind-numbing state forever while I wait for the sands of this moment in time to pass.

I don't know what time it is, albeit the sun seems to be at a point indicating that it is essentially noon. Perhaps if I lay here long enough the sun will rot my body and I will not have to continue going through any of this. And then again maybe not, because I can already see those coming down to view the game that is supposed to start at one o'clock, which unfortunately is a match where Slytherin is against Gryffindor. I have such rotten luck. Or maybe fate is gaining the upper hand. I guess I must move. I pick myself up off of the ground and make way towards the change rooms, grabbing my uniform out of my locker and passing the Gryffindor change rooms with my head down.

After dressing in the green and silver of my house I attempt to make my way past the Slytherin's rushing into the room. Blaise pats me on the back as he walks by and then starts whispering about me, thinking I don't know that he is doing it and that he has always done it. But, what am I to do? If I turn away from them what would I have left? What do I have left? I don't even want to be here. I'd rather be in solitary with my pain.

Waiting at the entrance on to the pitch I look to my left and see a swirl of scarlet, jet-black inky hair, and know that it is you, Harry. I squint my eyes shut and turn away, not able to handle seeing you. The crowd starts applauding as our opposition runs out onto the field and takes flight. As the Slytherins go out, one stand cheers enthusiastically for us, the others in complete silence. When I'm finally up in the air I feel slightly better, free as I feel the tepid breeze ruffle my hair. But then I see a pair of green eyes straight in front of me, staring long and hard. A shudder passes right through my body and it's not from the wind.

Madame Hooch screams and I know that it is the signal to get in position for the game to start. That means that you will be close to me again, staring me down with your piercing gaze. I cannot look but I can feel your presence anyway. I start breathing hard, unable to control the irregularity of it. The whistle sounds and I am almost dislodged from my broom out of shock. I manage to keep myself righted and begin to put speed in my flight. My eyes are wide in search for the snitch but keep glancing around to catch sight of the Adonis Gryffindor seeker.

Then, I catch a flash of gold spiraling out of control. Instinctively I reach out and grab it in my hand. The players go still. I turn to my left, then to my right, and see you, Harry, with your eyes wide and mouth agape. I realize I've caught the snitch. Finally the scores are shouted and I know that Slytherin has won 150 to 10. I drop down onto the ground and off of my broom, not too exited about my final defeat of the 'wonder boy' at Quidditch.

My brutish teammates are screaming like lunatics and crowding around me. They don't understand that I'm not as ecstatic as they are. I am swarmed by a sea of green and cannot escape, having no more strength to put effort into trying anyway. My team and fellow Slytherin's pushes carry me along to the locker room and then down to the dungeons thereafter. I flee to my room as soon as possible after evasion from the clutches of the many adoring females. Funny, that's not even my preference. As I reach my bed I collapse upon it and the tears overwhelm me.

I'm roused awake by their partying and turn to find my pocket watch on the end table. Four o'clock in the morning? Bloody hell! I forcefully roll myself over onto my back and stare at the high ceiling, eyes sore and puffy. Taking a shuddering breath I push myself to the floor and sneak quietly out the door. Unfortunately, I'm not as sneaky as I used to be. Blaise taps me on the shoulder as I pass by his conversation with a Fifth Year that I don't know. I try to avoid his questioning by ignoring him but it doesn't work. Instead of my usual patience with his nonsense I stare him in the eyes and point blank, tell him where to go. Not politely either.

The room goes still, but I have little care in the world for anything anymore. Not even myself. Coldly, I make my way out into the dim halls of the dungeons, pushing past everyone standing in my way. I keep walking, my feet shuffling along the dirty corridor floor, echoing back at me with twice the intensity. Carelessly I wander, not giving any heed to where I might be going or whom I might run into, whether it be Filch or even Dumbledore. But, lady luck is not with me tonight; instead I come into contact, literally, with a gliding black figure. I presume that this person is wearing a cloak, although my awareness at the moment isn't very keen. I look up into the hood of the cloak in wonder of who may be beneath it. I can't see much except for a shocking flash of green. It seems I am recognized though because I go on a wild chase as they turn and flee.

Turning around a corner I see at the next one, the tail end of the cloak, and follow it. I can hear the pattering of footsteps, which triggers me to move faster, and out of curiosity, keep going. Apparently the part about the cat dying hasn't sunk in yet. I turn round so many corners and pass by so many paintings that I cannot discern one from another. Past the next one I can see the figure slowing down, trying to decide on which turn to take next. This is where I make my move. I dash as quickly as I can and bolt right into this person, knocking them off of their feet and into the wall with a resounding thud. The hood falls down and I start to back away, stunned by whom I see. It is the person that I had hoped I would not have to see for the rest of my life for that matter. Images overtake me. Stumbling to the ground, my hands automatically go to my face to shield it from sight as the tears fall, yet again. I'm shaking like I'm having some kind of a spasm or seizure. And, when I see him trying to get up, just by looking at his appearance I can tell what he has been doing and why he desperately tried to get away from me. Your dark hair is impossibly tangled, more than normal, and your usual perfect pink lips are swollen to almost twice their size, which I know is not natural. The water is still swimming in my eyes but now I feel nauseous. I lean over onto my side and vomit onto the floor, not caring if any of it reaches me or not.

Seeing you standing here in front of me is torture, painful torture sending violent shockwaves to my heart. I can feel what has already been sewed up tear apart once more. I cough sporadically and can still taste in my mouth what is now on the floor. Disregarding your presence the chase changes as I head back the way we came and try to get away. It is hopeless though, as I knew it would be. I could never get away because deep inside I don't want to. I want you to know what you've done to me, how I feel like some insane person in an asylum, how I look at you now and can't breathe at all where before I could just do so. I start to slow down unconsciously and you grab at my sleeve, basically causing a backlash. I hear something snap. My mouth opens out of horror and when I look into the green that I could just drown in, I see concern once more for my well-being. You hold my wrist lightly, putting only a slight pressure. I hiss in pain.

At this point I know my wrist is broken. I suppose you figured it out as well because you try soothing the pain with a spell. Then, taking a hold of my other arm you pull me down the corridors. I ask where we are going, my voice cracked all to hell. I swear, realizing how horrible I must look and sound. You turn to me giving me another one of those looks I could probably melt from, if it was physically possible for a person to just randomly melt of course. I tremble and my knees begin to buckle. I've completely forgotten that there is a perfectly good Infirmary housed in the castle. Feeling an arm around my waist I am steadied again, relieved, for another crash to the floor would probably result in more injury on my part, and I've had enough for one day.

We keep on moving at my slow and reluctant pace until we reach a portrait. I really take a good look at the painting, which depicted a woman who was rather plump, dressed in pink and smiling down on you as if you were her long lost son. I shoot a questioning glance at the boy with large doe eyes and black silk hair, but you just ignore me, pulling me through the hole into a rather revolting red and gold room, with squishy chairs and battered upholstery, the fireplace burning low as the few people scattered about seemed to ignore it. You laugh at my disgusted face, still dragging me around like a rag doll wherever you please. I feel used to it though, like you've been doing it all along.

The next thing I realize, certainly because I wasn't paying attention, is that I'm in a room, empty of any other inhabitants. I am lying on a bed, and my mind sluggishly comprehends that it is your bed and room. You lightly grab hold of my head, pushing me up into a sitting position, and pour a sickening concoction down my throat. I almost gag but manage to swallow it without doing so. A few more minutes and unknowingly I pass out with a warm, half-dressed body pressed against my side.

There is a slight buzzing sound annoying me. As if someone is talking to me but won't stop because they don't realize I'm not listening. Harry. My eyes open so fast that the entire room becomes a massive, jumbled blur. I blink a few times, allowing myself to adjust to the light and the horrid red I had witnessed last night, which seems to also be the main color of your room. It should really be green. It would match so much more delightfully with your eyes instead of reminding me of the jolly Christmas colors Hogwarts is usually decorated with during the winter seasons. When I finally stop thinking to myself I notice that you are giving me an unusual smile. One with a slight lopsidedness that almost makes me forget about the previous happenings with a certain Professor. Almost.

I cannot smile back because the images that seem ingrained in my head keep making flashy entrances over and over again. You frown slightly, lip up turned in a semi-pout. I realize that it makes me want to ravish you, and when you see me shift in my spot you realize it too. There is only a bit of shock in your face, but the rest of it is curiosity and… arousal? I pounce, knocking you back, lips attached to lips, the silly pout erased, sooty eyelashes fluttering shut. A shudder wracks through my body, but in the most delightful way. Now I am the one in shock. You don't pull away. There are short tiny gasps coming from your exquisite mouth as my tongue darts to and fro within. When I move away, using my last reserves of control, you moan, so prettily. Your eyes snap open. What is left of color is a violent green, the rest swallowed in black.

You look me straight in the eye, loosely running hands through my hair, moving forward, and we are kissing again. This time I am the one to moan. It doesn't seem to startle you, but makes you even more confident in your exploration. As you begin to run fingers up and down my sides underneath my shirt, I start to gasp your name. I don't want it to stop even though I know it should. I just want you for a moment, even if I never feel you again.

Next thing I know we're laying on the bed, both with only our undergarments on, skin touching almost everywhere, grinding helplessly. Little beads of sweat are forming over top your eyebrow as you thrust vigorously, out of control, allowing your body to lose itself in the moment. My hips push upward to meet with yours. I curse a dozen profanities, my body losing restraint, reaching my limit. Stars of gold and silver flash, a shudder goes through my entire body causing me to convulse in ecstasy. When I open my eyes there is a blinding white then a clear picture of your face scrunched up in frustration. You go faster and I start to feel the uncomfortable wetness between my legs. And, just as it seems your relief has finally come, you jump off of me, landing with your back on the floor. I look up, mortification plainly visible on my face as I see Ron Weasley standing at the doorway, his expression showing a cross between disbelief and anger. I just lay motionless, not able to move from fear of the fiery tempered redhead.

"Harry, we NEED to talk."

Ron turns on his heel and walks out of the room. I shake my head, not believing that he had not thrown a tantrum. I mean… Ron Weasley, catching Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy in bed together? Those are definite grounds for a patent Weasley explosion. A few minutes pass by in silence and you finally stir from your stupor. You pick your clothes up from off of the floor, then yourself, and shake your head. When you look at me I see regret in your face. I don't know if it is because of what we were doing or that we didn't get to finish and that we were interrupted. Or it could even be something else, but I cannot tell what. You manage to mumble a few words. Like, now is not a good time, that maybe I should go. You scrunch up your face as you realize how brutal it sounds, like your brushing me off, especially after what we had just done. I feel like I've been hit across the face with my own broomstick. Looking away for a minute as my eyes begin to blur, I try to blink the salty water back as I grab at the clothes on the bed that are mine. I search the floor as well, looking for the last item that I can't seem to find. I always manage to loose something.

As I bend over to pick up my sock I hear a giggle. I turn around and see you staring at my arse, your hand covering your mouth. I raise one eyebrow and grin. This causes you to stride over, grab me and give me a big sloppy kiss. I feel much better now. Fully clothed I make my way out of Gryffindor territory. Ron is waiting in your common room impatiently, tapping his foot and glaring at the cherry-wood door.

As I am walking in the halls I notice that the few people that I pass by are giving me strange looks. I stop inside one of the bathrooms just incase there is any possible way that I could look ridiculous - for instance, my hair standing up on end. But, when I peer into the dusty mirror I see nothing, except a silly grin plastered on my face. That must be the problem, obviously. No one in the school has ever seen me grin. Such a look was just preposterous for me to have. Under no circumstances was there ever a reason to grin so idiotically. In that moment the facial expression is gone and the usual cold, calculating glare is back. That seems more like what is expected of me.

On my way once more, I finally arrive at the place where I had started off last night. Taking a deep breath I enter into the common room. Ignoring the poorly executed imitations of a Malfoy sneer shot in my direction, I walk quickly into my rooms, but not too quickly if you know what I mean. Sighing deeply, tipping my head to the right and left to crack my aching neck, I walk to my bathroom, removing my clothing while getting closer, finally standing fully naked. Closing the door and locking it shut, as I always do with my room, I step into my shower, adjusting the taps to a soothing lukewarm temperature. Reaching for the lime-green soap causes me to remember the injury to my wrist. Dropping my head and wincing slightly, I grab it with my other hand and manage to not forget to use that hand during the rest of my shower.

I head out the door after changing into one of my less exotic outfits, one with less detail and plainer colors. Instead of going to the Great Hall I decide to go and see Madame Pomfrey to get my wrist fixed, seeing as I'm sure I won't be able to manage any wand work with it the way it is. There is very little questioning about it from Poppy. I call most of the staff by their first names because I got to know them very well while staying at Hogwarts, and 7 years of getting to know them all really paid off. The reason why there are never any questions is because I usually manage to end up in the hospital wing at least twice a week. Never mind why. She fixes the problem fairly quick, muttering a few spells and waving her wand, giving me a potion that I know she could make taste better if it wasn't for the fact that she dearly enjoys the faces that everyone always makes because of them. Thanking her, I leave and start on my way toward the kitchens. I'm definitely not eating with a bunch of morons bleating and moaning about every little thing. Why, when I can enjoy a nice meal by myself with dozens of friendly house-elves standing by to give me whatever I want in two measly seconds? Who would pass that up?

All I want to do is sit and eat my food in peace. But, things usually don't turn out the way I want them to. About to begin my meal, the hustle from the house-elves far from my mind, I hear a squeal from one wearing a dirty tea-cozy. I glance up to see you walk in and you're not shocked at the display. You usher him away and he complies whole-heartedly, muttering about 'the great Harry Potter', and 'must make him favorite meal'. I assume the elf is male because I've noticed that the females tend to be a little bit smaller than the rest and their voices higher pitched as well.

I can tell that you don't notice me at first as I had noticed you, but you become aware of the extra company when you turn to find a place to sit. You stare openly for a moment and then you're looking at nothing but the floor. I see a blush rising to your face and I chuckle. I never thought you would be the kind to blush. Especially seeing as I assume you have had more relationships than I, contrary to popular belief. There is a flush of color on your neck and I wonder just how far down it goes. These thoughts are always why I get so sexually frustrated around you. Now I'm the one blushing. Finally, you realize how silly you must look, just standing there, and begin to walk toward me. My heart is now performing a loud rock song in my chest. Like the drummer is trying to drum as loud as possible, hammering away, trying to drown out any other sounds. It's working because I can't pay attention to anything in my head anymore. Just the pounding. Maybe I should stop listening to that damn muggle music.

It occurs to me that my mind has been drifting again. My eyes focus on you sitting across from me at the little table I'm seated at, your head tilted to the side, just looking. Like the way a puppy might tilt it's head to the side when it's curious about what you're doing. Maybe the term should be curiosity killed the dog. Great, I'm feeling sadistic again. Damn these Slytherin mood swings. Shaking my head slightly at an attempt to clear my thoughts, I realize you've been served your meal. But, once again, all I see are those captivating green eyes. Those perfectly long eyelashes that cannot hide the brilliant light from my longing stare. As you look up from your food and glance at me, then look back at your food as if it was the most spectacular thing in the world, I know that you know that I've been admiring you. Does that even make sense? I suppose it does in my head. So, I take this opportunity to keep looking. Though the blush had disappeared earlier, it is returning again, and you're fidgeting with you're knife as you pretend not to notice me watching you.

Following the line of your neck, I find my eyes returning to the clothes you are wearing, favoring the color of your shirt, glad to know that it is green. I reach across to you and swipe my hand over it, wondering what material it is, because it looks like silk, except for the way that it doesn't shape around you, like it shouldn't if it was silk. Once more, I'm probably not making sense. You nearly jump out of your chair as you feel something touch your chest. Your eyes are wide, almost impossibly so. My lips twitch up into a smirk out of amusement. Ah, I haven't smirked in a very long time, too long. It's been too long that I've been feeling morose. It feels wonderful to again have facial expressions other than those of pain or those meant to frighten the living daylights out of everyone. My eyebrow raises itself questioningly. It causes the blush to deepen and for you to groan in embarrassment. The perfect sound coming from your lips causes me to almost whimper, although I would have preferred that groan to be of a different nature other than mortification; for instance, arousal. Oh well, there is always another time. There is an audience after all. But, its not like the house elves are actually paying attention. Thank heavens for that.

I suppose it would not be appropriate to molest you unduly at this moment, unfortunately, though I know you'd consent if it weren't for our current location. Damn. I guess I'll stop whining about it for now. I pick up my fork and try to ignore the look on your face. It's not working very well. You are so distracting, and like always, I can never ignore you. As I put the food in my mouth, my eyes are still trained on you. You're rolling the tension out of your shoulder blades and rubbing your neck at the same time, and all I want to do is help you rub. Is it possible to get my mind out of the gutter? I think not. Frustrated with my lack of control, I grab your arm, haul you out of your chair, and practically drag you into the hall. Pushing you up against the stone wall, seeing as we're not technically in public anymore, my lips find yours and my head swims dizzily, trying to will my legs to not turn into jelly. My hands automatically gravitate to your soft locks of ebony hair, tangling the strands into my fingers. Wanting to touch you more but not willing to remove my hands, I slowly end the kiss and trail my lips down your strong jaw and to your waiting, outstretched neck. When I gently press up against you, your body freezes and I feel so hurt by your reaction that I can feel water pricking the corner of my eyes. Not wanting to upset me you yank the sleeve of my robe and indicate with your eyes to look behind me. And, when I do, I see, once again, Ron Weasley standing and watching, tapping his foot and looking a little more than slightly annoyed. Bullocks.

"Why me, Harry? Why must I always be the one to catch you with a Slytherin? Couldn't it be Hermione? But no, it has to be me." Weasley ends with an almost sarcastic tone.

"I'm sorry Ron." You say sadly as you hang your head.

I'm astonished at how much you take from Weasley. Don't you have your own rights? He should stop complaining. None of this is his business.

"We already had this conversation. Why two Slytherins? The worst ones too! Snape and Malfoy, Harry? I'm almost ashamed of you."

"I said I'm sorry Ron. I can't explain it, not right now anyway, especially with... never mind."

Weasley stalks off looking even more pissed, my eyes glowering at the back of his head trying to burn a hole through him. For a few more seconds I watch him leave and then turn to see you walking in the opposite direction.

"Harry, wait! Where are you going?" I scream after you.

You don't even look back as I try and chase after you, and when I grab on your arm to stop you and spin you around to face me, I see coldness in your eyes that has never been there before.

"It was a mistake Malfoy, don't touch me ever again."

My feet stumble and I slam into the wall behind me, sliding to the floor with my head in my hands, salty streaks running hopelessly down my cheeks as my whole body shakes. I cannot fathom why there is such a change in you, why you pull me close one minute and push me away the next. All I can hope is that you make a choice, to stop pushing me away, that your actions are only a spur of the moment thing. I don't even want to think about the possibility of not being in your life, always standing by and watching, wondering what could have been. Thinking on this makes me want to curl up into myself and die, just let go of all the pain and emotion. But you are my drive; you keep me hanging there always wanting more, always questioning. You let my hopes go up and then they come crashing down on me. Each time you do this a little piece of my heart is shattered and I know that it cannot be fixed. It would be an impossible feat to accomplish and knowing this I set off looking for something to numb the ache, the void I have when you're gone.

A bottle of whiskey would go good with the pain. Stealing an interesting musical sound projection device from one of the mudblood Ravenclaws, I set about doing just that. Killing the pain, which is my only way out. The alcohol, at last begins to overtake my judgment and the music is so blaringly loud that I can't hear my own thoughts. Stumbling comically because of my excessive drinking, I make my way down the halls trying not to fall flat on my face, coming terribly close to doing so many times. This is probably not a very good idea but I don't really care at this moment. I take another swig from the bottle and manage to not trip over the stairs going down. I'm very proud of myself, but not so proud about being drunk. And boy, do I know I'm drunk!

I see little spots of green color flicker through the hallway, zipping in every direction. I reach out to try to clutch the sparkling lights and almost set myself ablaze as the sleeve of my robe passes through one of the torches hanging on the wall. My eyes slide shut as my feet catch on the rough stone of the floor, doing a drunken dance to the song blasting in my ears.

"Rape me…

Rape me my friend.

Rape me…

Rape me again."

I sing out part of the words, only being able to comprehend that line through my alcohol soaked haze. All of the other words are coming together as a buzzed melody of confusion and it hurts to try and make them out, so I stop trying to figure the rest of the lyrics, banging my head to the beat and putting a cross between humming and mumbled slurs in place of the words I don't know. I probably look ridiculous.

Several hours have gone by and I've nearly reached the bottom, quite unaware of the actual time. Moonlight is streaming through the overly large windows of the hall. It causes me to stagger many a time, as I cannot see from the blinding glow of it. I eventually come to a stop and look to see where I've ended up. The portrait hanging in front of me looks vaguely familiar. But, with how alcohol soaked my brain is I probably wouldn't recognize myself if I was looking at my reflection in a mirror.

I scratch my head sheepishly as the Fat Lady stares down at me. I just can't seem to figure out the password Harry had said.

"Migglewumps, no Cuddlewups… wait, Diddle…Diddledums. Dammit!"

I give up, frustrated with my lack of success. There's nothing more to do but to start pounding and hoping someone hears me. I need to talk to him. At last a grumpy looking Third Year swings open the portrait entrance and glares at me.

"I need to talk to Harry. Can you get him out here? Where is he? Harry!" I slur in questioning.

The boy raises his eyebrows at my drunken shouting, not finding it as amusing as most would. He tells me impatiently that if I would just shut up and wait he would see about getting Harry for me. So, hoping for the best I thank him uncharacteristically and lean against the wall to keep myself from falling over as I wait.

"What do you want? Didn't I tell you to leave me alone?" You point out as you enter the hall. My head shoots up at the sound of your voice. I know it is a rhetorical question but I've never been one for silence.

"Harry…" I plead desperately, "How could you? What… what was that all about early… earlier?" I take a couple steps toward you and trip over my robes. We end up sprawled on the dirty ground, and that's when I notice there is a good number of Gryffindors standing and watching us with hushed whispers. You don't really seem to care or notice. I slur as I try to apologize. "I'm sshorry, I mean sorry, I'm a little tipsy," my head starts to spin, "whoa…little tipsy right now."

You push me off of you and I lay briefly on the floor before I pick myself up. By the time I'm standing upright again, you're already up with your arms crossed, and giving me a very annoyed look. Like a cat that has been stroked the wrong way.

"Malfoy, you're pathetic. Let me make this clear for you again. It was a mistake and stay away. You got that?" You say irately.

"But…"

"Go away Malfoy."

"Harry!"

You turn you back from me and start walking away so I grab your wrist and stop you in your tracks.

"Let go of my arm." The chill in your voice seems almost terrifying.

"You don't know what you're missing," I challenge as I yank you into my arms. I passionately and drunkenly kiss you… in front of everyone. I allow you to push away, and then I'm the one walking away.

Bright and full the moon is, shining like a dazzling orb weaved into the stars. The breeze brushes softly against my hair and into my slightly pink face, cooling off my skin from the warm heat of the night. I breathe deeply letting the fresh forest air fill my lungs, then sigh in contentment. The only sound I can hear is the rustling of the golden leaves that had fallen to the ground when autumn first began, and the light melody of the birds as they praise the night sky with their song.

My head feels like it is full of lead, so I plop down into the grassy earth and stare up into the cerulean ocean above me. A good night for drinking, but since I've already done that, I suppose it's a better night for sobering up. I sigh again, running a hand through my hair in a fashion I would usually not condone. Fumbling in the pocket of my robe I pull out a cigarette that is a little sodden and light it with a quick "Parum Incendia". Time seems to stand still as I watch the swirls of smoke slowly drift away. Emptying all thoughts from my head, dispersing every little thing into a bottomless void, I lay flat on the ground as my mind begins to lighten and clear. Eventually, hours coming and going without my notice or care, the moon begins to drop down as the sun ascends.

Days pass with the whole school in a complete uproar. After the incident of me, you, the Gryffindors, and the large bottle of Fire Whiskey that I had downed… needless to say the school isn't very pleased. Scratch that, Dumbledore seems delighted and is grinning madly at every hour of the day simply because the Gryffindor house couldn't keep their fat mouth's shut. And, Slytherin probably has a hit man out for me for all the snide remarks I've been getting. Next on my list of things to buy – body guard. And through all of this you grin and ignore it. Anytime someone asks you about it you make a joke about how I obviously can't handle my liquor or some such rot.


End file.
